The Cowpoke

Young Elmer enjoyed his work as a cowpoke on the seventeenth farm of Yakul. Each night, after giving them their bath in clove oil, he would prod a long, bony finger into the face of one of the cows - Mildred usually or, if he took the fancy, Bathsheba - and cry "one pulls your udders, so pull the udder one!" Thus he was named "the cowpoke" and the cows hated him for it.

One night, a bovine council met and resolved to put a stop to this practice. Earlier that morning they'd spied a troupe of Siberian weasels in the area. These weasels had, like most Mustelidae, spend the day looking for work as hired farm hands, only for an incredulous farmer to tell them a strong and emphatic "No". The cows decided they would ask these weasels to help them the next time they called round.

They did not have to wait very long as, a mere three days later, the same troupe of gaily-dressed polecats waddled up to the farmhouse door.

"Pssssssst." said Mildred from behind a hedge. Henry Weasel started and squinted through the foliage. "It's a cow!" he jeered, "and it seems to have a puncture."

Ignoring this flippant horseplay, Mildred explained to the sixteen gathered weasels they would put in a good word with the farmer for them if they would lend a hand in dealing with the bothersome Young Elmer. The weasels agreed, nodding their heads and shaking with glee.

That night they snuck into the cowshed, having assembled themselves in a cow-like formation, covered in a black and white patterned blanket and holding bicycle handlebars as makeshift horns. When Young Elmer wasn't looking, one of the rear weasels dabbed the blanket all over with clove oil and set a small, paper sign before them which read "already washed".

"Oi baint seen that scrawny heifer before" thought Young Elmer. "Oi'm going to have to poke it seeing as oi'm not going to get to wash it."

And before Young Elmer had the chance to get to the end of "one pulls your udders...", he let out an almighty scream. Henry Weasel had bitten hard on his long, bony finger and, despite Young Elmer's frantic waving, would not let go. Without prompt, the other fifteen weasels attached themselves to Young Elmer's various extremeties, chomping, noshing, gripping and tearing. The more Young Elmer struggled, the more these bloodthirsty bulldog clips bit down. Presently they relented and Young Elmer, covered in cuts and scratches, crawled sheepishly out of the cowshed.

From that day forward Young Elmer never dared poke a cow again. "I'll stick to pokes of chips" he muttered, picking small pieces of wood off the ground and crunching them indignantly with vinegar.